Wrong
by sapphireswimming
Summary: Wrong everything. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong idea. Which is why it isn't hard to see how the entire plan fell to pieces.


**Well, reward to me for rewriting resumes and submitting an application. yay.**

**And I'm a big fan of mixing things up, even if I am writing with the standard crossover characters. muahahaha.**

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><p><strong>Wrong<br>**

January 16, 2014

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><p>Danny slept heavily against the hard corner of his chemistry textbook, mouth hanging open and one hand still clutching a pencil. It twitched a little as his mind subconsciously heard the door opening, but he quickly dismissed it as a threat. Just someone coming home late. After all, ghosts didn't need to open doors, did they?<p>

And he had had enough ghosts in the past twenty four hours to last him all week. As soon as he'd finished that last homework problem, he'd conked out right in the kitchen without bothering to go up to his room.

He wasn't planning on rousing for anything less than Pariah Dark until Jazz woke him tomorrow morning with a scant fifteen minutes to get ready for school.

Or that's what he thought until he realized that the heavy footsteps weren't familiar, didn't belong to anyone in his family, and were clomping stealthily toward him.

He was awake in an instant, all weariness forgotten, because _there were strangers in his house_. But before he had time to so much as turn around, strong arms grabbed him to hold him in place. Blue eyes widened and he tried to turn his head to see who it was and whether he could risk exposing his secret if it meant getting out of their clutches long enough to warn his family, but something was covering his vision… and his face… a cloth… that smelled so sweet he began to choke and wheeze through the fabric…

It was frightening, how quickly everything seemed to slip away into the darkness. The more he struggled against the people holding him, the more ineffectual his attempts seemed. Soon his movements were sluggish, not as urgent as they should have been because who knew who these creeps were or what they wanted.

Finally, his brain couldn't even maintain the single thought that had driven his fight, and with a last mental cry of _Mom! Dad! Jazz!_ he finally lost the last of his coherency and fell heavily against his textbook again.

"Well," a gravelly voiced figure blinked in surprise as he let go of the lean figure slumped over the kitchen table. "That went faster than I expected."

"Dean," the other man reprimanded.

"Yeah, yeah, you think I enjoyed drugging the kid any more than you did? Let's just get downstairs and do what we came here to do, huh? Before someone else wakes up…"

The two denim clad hunters quickly found the door leading to the basement and, with a quick glance around to ensure that they were indeed alone, they descended the stairs to find themselves in the Fenton's laboratory.

The room spread out in front of them in glistening metal tables and workplaces surrounded by gleaming white cabinets containing all sorts of loose wires and hardware just waiting to be assembled. Blueprints ranging from weapons to toasters littered the countertops on one side of the room.

Glowing tubes of green liquid were stacked neatly in rows on the other, gently illuminating the various machines that they were waiting to be put into and measured by come morning.

Dean walked over to it, and shook his head when the flashlight-lit labels on the machines meant nothing to him. He had no clue what their purposes were; this was a big step up from his handmade EMF meter. Leaning in to study the mysterious liquid gave him little clue to what that was either.

He had stretched his hand out when Sam's frantic whisper stopped him, "Dude! Don't stick your finger in it! You have no clue what it is!"

"And how else are we going to find out, huh? This stuff is all over the place, I think it's important."

"It's also glowing," his brother pointed out.

"Yeah, which means that it's obviously supernatural and we need to figure out what it is."

Sam rolled his eyes and gave Dean the moment he needed to put his finger into one of the beakers. "Dean!" he lunged forward but his brother had already touched the substance and, although he now looked rather disgusted, nothing seemed to have happened to him.

"Ugh," he said, wiping his hand all over Sam's sleeve, "feels like ectoplasm, but smoother, more slimy. And green."

"Did you really have to…?" Sam huffed, examining the slightly glowing streaks on his jacket.

"Makes sense, though," Dean continued as if he didn't see his brother's exasperation. "These ghost-things we've seen…"

"Definitely not poltergeists."

"No," Dean concurred. "But I think they're similar. Poltergeist cousin. Or poltergeist-ghost love child. That glows green," he offered.

Sam scrunched up his face at the image. "Dean, that's gross."

"No, they're… gross. Anyway," he hastened to continue, "it makes sense if we've found something else that's between dead spirit and poltergeist on the totem pole."

"Yeah," Sam said as he moved away to investigate a heavily bolted door deeply set into the wall. Clicking his flashlight on to better examine the locks, he realized that this was definitely well protected enough to be the door to what they were searching for. He knelt down and began to play around with the locks, but didn't get too far when Dean saw what he was doing and took over with a smirk.

"Lock picking's never really been your forte, has it, Mr. Lawyer?"

Sam grinned. "Shut up."

After a few minutes tinkering with the lock pick set Dean had slipped out of his pocket, they had unbolted the door and swung it open.

Dean peaked inside before dismissing the room. "Not it, moving on." He strode to the other side of the lab to examine another securely covered space that might have been what they had come here for.

From floor to ceiling was a huge round space covered in yellow and black hazard stripes. A quick examination of the edges showed that it wasn't a typical doorway and couldn't be opened as easily as the first had been. But then he noticed the control panels off to the side, one with another tube of that glowing almost-ectoplasm and a panel full of buttons that looked like it should have been piloting a plane instead of controlling a door in someone's basement.

"Hey, Sammy!" he called softly from across the room, "I think I found…!"

"Dean," Sam's voice was a bit muffled before he stepped back out of the small room they had just opened. "You need to take a look at this."

"But I think I found what we're looking for," Dean protested even as he walked over to where his brother stood.

And he got his first real look at the room, lit by Sam's flashlight, laid out with a truly incredible array of weaponry.

He swallowed heavily. "Hunters?"

"I don't think so," Sam replied, fingering one of the guns closest to him. "This has normal bullets in it and those nun chucks over there aren't iron or silver and they've got a lot of things that wouldn't be useful in our kind of hunting."

Both brothers turned to look at the collection with wide eyes before slowly backing away.

"I think that we are messing with the wrong kind of people." Dean hissed, dragging Sam over to the bigger door and the green cylinder embedded in the wall. "Now let's do what we came here to do and get the hell out of here before we run into trouble."

He had just felt the prickle go up his spine when Sam said, "Yeah, I think it might be a bit late for that…"

They turned in sync to see a black haired boy standing silently at the foot of the stairs. Dean flashed his flashlight over the kid and nearly dropped it in shock after recognizing him.

"Isn't that…?!"

"… the kid who should still be unconscious upstairs for another forty minutes?" Sam finished for him. "Yeah, I think so."

The temperature began to drop as he took a step closer to them and the air around them began to tingle with energy.

"Whoa, hey," Dean laughed as he put his hands up in as non threatening a manner as he could while still being ready to take the kid out again at the quickest opportunity. "Look, we don't mean to harm anyone, we just got a little thing to do and then we'll be on our way, okay? What do you say?"

The teenager looked at them, his eyes glowing the same sickly hue as the test tubes scattered around the lab and spoke with a voice that echoed, "You guys decided to mess with the wrong family."

Dean swore and reached for his gun.

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><p><strong>GUYSGUYSGUYS! Mullkkkkkk adopted this fic and is going to turn it into something so much bigger and better than I was able to do here. 8)<strong>

**So check it out: s/10072314/1/Wrong-place-wrong-time-wrong-intentions**


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